Mary Christmas
by AllieGee
Summary: One of the Misfits decides to celebrate the holiday in her own way... in a way her friends would never guess.


Going to church is hard.

It's one of those places where I would prefer to be no different than anyone else. Under God's roof aren't we all supposed to be the same? I've gone to church without makeup, in the simplest outfit, my hair up in a ponytail. I've been down on my knees, deep in prayer, only to be tapped on the shoulder and spoken to by a fan. I've had to block my face with a church bulletin as I stumble towards my car trying not to be photographed by paparazzo.

I'm not complaining. I'm not.

But...

In the beginning, no one recognized me unless I was in full Misfits makeup, or if I was with Pizzazz and Roxy. But as time went on, people would recognize me at the store, at the gas station - even in a tee shirt, jeans, and dark sunglasses. Wearing sweatpants and sweaty from jogging.

Don't get me wrong; I'm never upset about being recognized. I've worked hard for it. It means what I do matters, and that my music touches lives. Which means the world to me.

But there are times when...

A softspoken teen girl whispers, "Stormer?" as she rings up my box of tampons at the drugstore.

I'm happy to sign an autograph for her; I am. It's just that it would be easier to fade into the background sometimes. To just be Mary Phillips again.

At this point, though, it's easier said than done.

It's Christmas Eve and I'm nervous enough as it is. I'm about to disobey one of Pizzazz's orders for the first time since I became a Misfit. I can still remember as if it was yesterday, the moment she told me I was never to "perform publicly as a solo artist" again.

She meant at church.

She had caught me singing a folk mass at St. John's Church, and she wasn't happy about it.

And for a few years, I listened to her. I attended church as discreetly as I could, but never sang or played music there again. Even in the pews, my throat felt like it was burning as I restrained myself from singing along. My every instinct told me to sing out, and I didn't - I couldn't - I wasn't allowed to.

Tonight, I shrug into a red cardigan. I don't think I've ever worn a cardigan in my life, but I am wearing one tonight. At least it's festive. I have very little makeup on - and in none of my usual colors. Gray eyeshadow replaces my usual green. Clear pink lip gloss instead of the red I wear on a near-daily basis. I've dabbed some concealer over the birthmark just above my lips.

I get to work on my hair. I twist one strand at a time into a little knot secure it with a clip. When I'm done, I pull a stocking cap over and for a second I look like I'm bald - I can't shake how much I look like Mama when she was sick. I want to cry, but I focus on the task at hand. I lift a black wig off of a styrofoam head and put it on. As I adjust it, I practice some vocal warm-ups. A fringe of dark bangs falls over my eyebrows and the straight bobbed style curves under my chin. I resist the urge to pin a poinsettia into my hair; it would surely give me away.

"Bella signo-o-o-o-o-o-ora," I sing to the person in the mirror - the person who is becoming increasingly more difficult to recognize.

My expressions and my eyes are giving me away so, reluctantly, I lean close to the mirror and begin taking my contact lenses out.

St. John's is sparkling with red and green; poinsettias surround the altar, and Christmas trees with little white lights stand tall on either side. I am almost surprised how easily I'm able to slip into place unnoticed. I take my spot near the cantor, Don, a man who's known me since I was a little girl and hasn't aged a day since then. He's never treated me any different, always with the same kindness, whether I was famous or when I was still a nobody.

He greets me, a strange smile on his face as he takes in my disguise. "Merry Christmas, Mary." He clasps my hand. He's the one who asked me to sing, and the only one who I told my plan to. "You've outdone yourself." He gives me a quick wink, then puts his poker face on.

I sit down with the rest of the choir and try to blend in. I'm happy I don't have to try that hard. No one has made a remark; no one looks at me strangely. The choir faces the congregation, and I watch as the parishioners begin to take their seats in the pews. I recognize a few faces, but no one smiles or waves at me.

Then it happens.

Craig. My brother Craig.

Craig files into the church, escorting his girlfriend Aja.

He never goes to Christmas Eve mass! In fact, he usually goes on Christmas morning with me! Maybe he wanted to take Aja to church, and this was the only time she could make it? It feels warm all of a sudden. I can't believe how flustered this is making me. It gets worse when Craig and Aja sit in the second pew from the front.

I clasp my hands in my lap and stare down at them, bowing my head. I begin to pray. I pray that this was the right decision. My glasses, oversized and unattractive, slip down the bridge of my nose, and I have to look up to push them back into place. I glance over to see Craig take Aja's hand. He's whispering to her, and he looks over at the choir but I don't think he even notices me.

Mass starts and I'm relieved. I'm just one of the choir. I haven't attended any of the rehearsals, and have only worked on my solo at home, but it's easy for me to slip some harmonies into "O Come All Ye Faithful" and "The First Noel." I glance up from my hymnal and see Aja and Craig singing along. No one has noticed me.

The first reading passes, then the second. The gospel, and the sermon. The mass proceeds and the choir files up to accept Communion first. We return to our seats and sing "Silent Night" as a group as the remainder of the congregation takes Communion. My lips are moving but mentally I'm just preparing myself for what I'm about to do...

Communion ends and my heart is hammering in my chest. I'm surprised Craig can't hear it! There's silence and I stand, feeling like my knees are going to buckle. I haven't been this nervous in a long time. I don't feel like this when I'm playing in a packed stadium with Pizzazz and Roxy... Somehow my ridiculous disguise only serves to make me feel like I'm naked in front of everyone.

I can't hide behind "Stormer." Not here. Not now.

The parish is so quiet, you can hear a pin drop.

I must look awfully worried as I stand in front of the mic, because I hear Don clear his throat. When I look over at him, he gives me his warmest and most encouraging smile and a nod. Then he begins to play the piano.

The overhead lights in the church dim.

I've got no choice but to do what I was meant to do. I open my mouth and sing. "O Holy Night, the stars are bright shining..."

I can't look at anyone just yet. I look skyward; I look at the stained glass and the wooden rafters and try to quell my nerves. "...it is the night of the dear Savior's birth. Long lay the world..."

Finally I let myself scan the faces in the parish. I glance at Craig. "A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices..."

Craig looks right at me. He looks me right in the eye, and turns to whisper to Aja. I know what he's saying: "That's _Mary_."

Aja's eyes grow huge and she covers her mouth with her hand.

I have to look away. I just remind myself to sing to God. "Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices, O night divine..." I just close my eyes and sing out. I've sang in Madison Square Garden, but somehow my voice seems bigger, more powerful here in this little church. My nerves melt away and a piano break gives me a breather. I steal a glance at Craig, who's beaming. I have to look away when I resume singing.

I come close to the end. When I'd left my bungalow just an hour ago, I hadn't been sure I was going to go for the high note at the end, but now it feels right, and I go for it. I nail it. I am singing, I am singing my soul out, to God, to my brother, to everyone who doesn't know or care that I'm a Misfit. I finish the song as softly as I started it.

There's silence. After what feels like a long time, I hear one pair of hands clapping, then two, then the roar of applause, long and loud. I bow my head in thanks. They're still clapping. I look up, and Craig's the first to stand. Others join him. Aja wipes a tear from the corner of her eye.

I'm so very humbled.

When the applause dies down, Don leans into his mic. "Thank you, Mary."

It is my greatest performance.


End file.
